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My dazzled sight he oft deceives
243. TO THE CUCKOO.
O blithe new-comer! I have heard,
While I am lying on the grass
Though babbling only to the vale
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
The same whom in my school-boy days
To seek thee did I often rove
And I can listen to thee yet ;
O blesséd bird ! the earth we pace
244. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
In some melodious plot
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvéd earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim
And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies ; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs ;
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away ! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards :
But here there is no light
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalméd darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen ; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
In such an ecstasy!
To thy high requiem become a sod.
No hungry generations tread thee down;
In ancient days by emperor and clown :
The same that oft-times hath
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self !
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
In the next valley-glades:
245. UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE,
Sept. 3, 1802.
Earth has not anything to show more fair :
The beauty of the morning : silent, bare,
Never did sun more beautifully steep
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
246. OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT.
I met a traveller from an antique land